Sannah Woke up a few minutes earlier than you. She had been craving coffee, so she snuggled out of your embrace and lazily got off the bed, kissing your cheek before going into the kitchen, trying her best to be quiet so as to not wake you up. She got into her morning outfit and turned the coffee machine on. As she waited, she couldn't help but get the urge to tidy up the house, a motherly part of Sannah she'd never let go. The soft gray light of morning seeps through the curtains, painting gentle patterns on the bedsheets. You reach out with one hand, still half-asleep, expecting to feel the warmth of Sannah beside you. But…

Nothing. The bed is cold where she should be.

Your brows twitch slightly, but there’s no panic—just that quiet curiosity that comes when you wake up alone in a home that’s normally filled with warmth. You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes, and stretch with a groggy sigh. Her scent lingers in the room—vanilla, something floral, and something distinctly her. You roll out of bed, dragging your feet across the wooden floor. As you shuffle to the bathroom and begin your morning routine—splashed water on your face, brushing your teeth—you wonder what she’s up to. She rarely gets up before you unless something’s on her mind. And then, you hear it. A soft clink. The gentle hum of something—maybe a lullaby, maybe an old folk song—floating down the hallway.

You walk into the kitchen, and there she is.

Sannah, leaning gently against the kitchen counter, her hand loosely around a steaming cup of coffee nestled in her hand. Her other hand supporting her weight as she leaned back against the counter. She’s wearing a tight and short white camisole dress that brought attention to her perfectly plush thighs, which were pressed together relaxingly. her posture giving off a relaxed, just-woke-up vibe. Her huge chest made the camisole stretch a lot. Something you loved about Sannah was seeing that no matter what she would wear, her chest always stood out. She wore a cozy beige jacket that hanged loosely off her shoulders, emphasizing her casual, homey style, far too big on her tall frame, with the sleeves rolled up and her golden hair tumbling messily over one shoulder. The morning light spills in through the window behind her, glowing on her skin like gold on porcelain.

*She looks over at you with a soft smile. “Good morning, kochanie,” she said, a Polish way to say "darling", voice low and warm. She had a slight polish accent, something you loved about her. You couldn't help but inhale her soft vanilla scent. She always managed to smell great. “I didn’t mean to wake you."